Dead Cold Mysteries Box Set #1: Books 1-4 (A Dead Cold Box Set)

by Blake Banner

  She could have told me to go to hell and do it myself, but she didn’t. She said, “I can do that for you.”

  “No, wait!” I turned to Dehan. “The Bronx is what, seven miles across at its widest. Ten miles long, I am being approximate here. It’s rush hour. He has to select his victim, photograph her, get to a printer, write his message, print the photograph, and then deliver it. For that, he needs to select a suitable messenger who is willing to deliver. All of this is eating considerably into his two hours. So we need malls that are close to the precinct.”

  The sergeant said, “Yes, we have Bruckner Plaza, New Horizon, Webster…”

  “Photographs!” I showed her the picture. “Find this mall. Because that woman is going to be killed.”

  “I’m on it.”

  I ran up the stairs to the captain. I knocked and went in without waiting. He looked up, startled. I showed him the picture. “I need a BOLO on this woman. I need cars to go to every mall in the Bronx and identify this shopping center—and this woman. They need to talk to cashiers, shop assistants. The clock is ticking on this woman’s life.”

  He nodded. “Yes. I’ll see to it.”

  He was picking up the phone as I left.

  When I got back down, the sergeant was talking to Dehan. She looked at me as I approached. “Maria thinks it’s the New Horizon. I think so too. I was just there.”

  “I’m pretty sure it is, Detective.”

  “Okay, thanks, Maria. Dehan, get your coat. Let’s go.”

  As we ran down to the car, she said, “Why don’t we just go get Dave?”

  “Because if it’s him, we’ll waste time looking for him and we won’t find him. And if it’s not him, we’ll find him, but it will be a waste of time.”

  “Oh…”

  It took us ten minutes to get there, and another fifteen to run around the parking lot checking every entrance to see if it fit. Then Dehan grabbed my arm and stopped me. “Look.”

  I looked at the photograph, then at the building, at the door, the tree, the letters… I shook my head. “No, the tree is in the wrong place..”

  “No! It’s not. Look at the letters on the wall, up in the corner. You can hardly see them, but look carefully.”

  I frowned. “They should be over there…”

  “Look again, Stone!”

  “They’re back to front! Son of a bitch! He’s inverted the picture!”

  “It’s this mall, this entrance.”

  We ran in. Over on the right there was a Pathmark. I pointed at the nearest checkout. “You start there. I’ll start at the other end.”

  There was a long line, but I barged in waving my badge.

  “’Excuse the interruption, folks.” I said to the guy at the checkout, “Were you here two hours ago?”

  “Sure. Been here since one.”

  “Do you recognize this woman? Her life might be at risk.”

  He looked blank and shook his head. I showed it around to the people in the line and got the same, blank response. I moved to the next checkout. Same thing. Third one I was getting the same, blank stares and shaking heads when I heard my name being called. It was Dehan, waving to me. She was six checkouts down. I ran to her. As I approached, she was saying, “This woman knows her.”

  The woman at the checkout was large and in her fifties. She looked worried. “She comes in three or four times a week. She’s a nice lady. She lives two streets from me on the corner. She in trouble?” The people in line were not sure whether to be restless or curious. There was some sighing and muttering.

  I shook my head. “No, but she could be at risk. We need to find her. It’s really urgent. Where does she live?”

  “I’ll write it down for you, honey.”

  While she was writing it down, a big guy in a vest and a baseball cap started complaining. “Hey, we all got problems. Move it along. The woman’s got a fuckin’ problem, take it somewhere else. This is a goddamn store.”

  Dehan turned to him. “Hey! Mister. You got an attitude?”

  “I ain’t got an attitude, I just wanna do my fuckin’ shopping.”

  “I’m asking you if you’ve got a fucking attitude! I got a fucking attitude, see? I got a bad fucking attitude. If you ain’t got a bad fucking attitude like mine, then shut the fuck up. We clear?”

  I glanced at him. He had gone the color and consistency of a suet dumpling. I thanked the woman at the checkout, and we left at a run. We ran through the dark, wet parking lot, and as we scrambled into the car, I grabbed the radio.

  “Detectives Stone and Dehan requesting backup at 1820B Waterloo Place. Have located woman in APB. Heading there now from New Horizons Shopping Mall.”

  I hit the gas, and as I pulled out of the lot, I glanced at Dehan and said, “You have got a fucking attitude, Dehan.”

  “I have a fucking attitude. You ain’t got a fucking attitude? Have you got a fucking attitude, Stone?”

  “I’ve got a fucking attitude. Have you got a fucking attitude?”

  “I’ve got a fucking attitude.”

  It was less than a two-minute drive. Waterloo Place was a short, quiet street with a mixture of apartment blocks and well-kept houses with gabled roofs and ample porches. I came to 1820B and screeched to a halt. As we made our way onto the porch, I could hear sirens approaching. There was light in the windows, but I couldn’t hear any sounds coming from inside. I pressed the bell.

  Nothing.

  I pressed the bell and hammered on the door. A squad car came wailing into the street and stopped outside the house. I hammered again. Car doors slammed and the two patrolmen were running up to join us.

  A door slammed inside the house. Then there were running feet clattering down the stairs. I stood back and pulled my piece. Dehan did the same. The patrolmen covered us.

  The door was wrenched open and a woman stood there, a look of absolute horror on her face, her hair disheveled and a bath towel wrapped around her. She stared at us and said, “What the hell is going on?”

  Sixteen

  Her name was Nancy Pierce. We sat with her in her living room. She had put a bathrobe on and now had a towel wound around her head. Dehan was sitting next to her, and I was opposite. The patrol car was outside awaiting instructions. Nancy Pierce looked like she had just discovered that for the past thirty years she’d been living on the Truman Show. Everything had changed and nothing would ever be quite the same again.

  She kept asking, “Why…?”

  I kept wanting to tell her that wasn’t a helpful question, but I knew that wouldn’t have been a helpful answer, either. Finally, Dehan said to her, “Nancy, you have to stop asking yourself that. The whole point is that there is no motive. He is crazy. If you try to understand him, you’ll drive yourself crazy, too.”

  Nancy looked at Dehan as though she was crazy. I asked her, “Have you got anybody you can stay with?”

  She stared at me a moment, then said, “No…” like now I was crazy too. “I mean, I have a sister, but she has kids… How could I…?”

  She couldn’t finish the sentence. I nodded that I understood. “We’ll leave a patrol car outside. You want a policewoman to stay here tonight?” She nodded. “Okay, we’ll arrange that.”

  I made the call, and while Dehan sat with Nancy, I went around the house, checking the windows and the access points to see if there was any way he could get in. By the time I was finished, I was satisfied that, unless he was Spider-Man, the only way in for him was past the patrol car and the policewoman who was going to be sitting downstairs with her service .38, watching TV all night.

  Sergeant Maria Fernadez, who had identified the shopping mall back at the station, volunteered and turned up within about fifteen minutes. When she and Nancy had settled in, I stepped outside into the drizzle with Dehan. I studied her face a moment. She looked exhausted.

  “Stone, pull David in before he kills somebody.”

  “The smallest miscalculation now and we could blow the whole thing, and that could cost man
y more lives, Dehan.”

  “He is going to kill, just to show you he can.”

  “On what grounds do we arrest him? And on what grounds do we hold him?” She looked away from me. Her jaw muscle was bouncing. “The closest thing we have to actual evidence points to Peter, not to Dave.”

  She sighed and rubbed her face. “I know. What do you want me to do?”

  “Go home. I want you to go home, disconnect, and rest. I’ll call you in the morning.”

  “What about you?”

  “I’m okay for the moment. I’ve got a couple of things I want to look into. Then I’ll get some sleep, too.”

  “Okay.” She sighed. “But anything, and I mean anything, you call me. You understand?”

  I smiled at her. “Don’t worry about it. Come on, I’ll drop you off.”

  It was a short drive, and we made it in silence, with only the slow, steady squeak of the windshield wipers and the wet hiss of the traffic outside. Inside the cocoon of the cab, the silence was almost comforting. Almost safe.

  I pulled up in front of the big red stone building, and we sat a moment looking at each other.

  “Call me, okay?”

  I smiled. “I’m never sure how long to leave it. Two days seems a long time, but a day can seem needy.”

  “Dork.”

  “Hey, that was my nickname at school.”

  “Good night, Stone.”

  “Good night, Dehan.”

  I watched her climb the five steps and let herself in. The door closed behind her, and I sat for five minutes wondering what to do.

  I drove first to Revere Avenue and cruised slowly past the Smiths’ house. Then I drove up past Dave’s house. I don’t know what I expected to see, but whatever it was, I didn’t see it. Then I drove back to Nancy Pierce’s house and parked. I was about to get out and ask the patrolmen if there was anything to report when my phone rang. The number was withheld. I answered.

  “Stone.”

  There was a stifled giggle.

  “Who is this?”

  Then a voice that was mainly breath said, “Tick… tock… tick… tock…”

  There was a moment’s silence, and the line went dead.

  I called the precinct and told them to trace the last call to my number, but I knew it would be a disposable cell.

  I got out and walked to the squad car. There was a hollow crunch to my steps. The wet road looked like polished bronze. The street was empty and cold. I leaned on the car. The patrolman had the window open and was looking up at me.

  “Jones, right?”

  “Yes, Detective.”

  “He just called me. Stay alert. He could be nearby.”

  He nodded.

  I walked around the side of the house and into the back garden. It was very dark. The fence and the shed at the end were blacker shapes against the blackness. I took my time exploring every corner. The shed was locked. The garden was empty, and there was nobody on the other side of the fences. I went back around to the front and rang the bell. The sergeant opened up and let me in. I could hear the TV in the next room. I spoke quietly.

  “He called.”

  “What did he say?”

  I shook my head. “Tick tock.”

  “You think he’s here?”

  “I don’t know. Is she asleep?”

  She shook her head.

  We went through to the living room. Nancy looked up, questioning me with her eyes. I smiled, though it wasn’t from the heart. “Everything is quiet.”

  “What about tomorrow?”

  “We are going to catch him.”

  I sat on the sofa and pulled out the photograph of the mall. There was something about it that was wrong. I couldn’t put my finger on what it was, but there was something nagging at the back of my mind. Dehan had been smart to see how it had been inverted, the relationship of the tree to the door and the letters. Nine out of ten people would not have spotted it, especially in a rush. That told me this guy was cunning.

  The way he had angled and focused the shot so that any identifying marks were outside the frame. All you could really see was the big double glass doors with the light pouring out from inside. Then there was Nancy right in the middle of the doorway, reaching out with what seemed to be her right hand but was really her left. That made sense because she was holding something, a bag, with her right hand.

  “You’re right-handed?”

  She glanced at me. “Yeah…”

  And then everything in the foreground was dark and out of focus. It was as though there was a split, two distinct parts to the picture. The dark blur of the foreground, and the bright clarity of the background.

  I felt the hair on my head prickle, and I went cold. I was suddenly aware that I had been extremely stupid. I still wasn’t sure why, or how, but something in my mind was screaming at me that if the background was clear and the foreground was dark and blurry, the foreground was where I needed to be looking.

  This was not about Nancy Pierce.

  Then things started to slot into place. The hazy, grainy figure getting into or out of the car right in the foreground was wrong. It was what had been troubling me since Dehan spotted that the photograph was inverted. Because the person getting in or out was on the left of the car. You could just make out the steering wheel. But if the picture was inverted it ought to be on the other side.

  My brain was scrambling. Had he cut the picture in half and only inverted the top? That didn’t make any sense. What would be the point of doing that? So what other explanation could there be? The only explanation was that the car wasn’t American. The car was English.

  “Shit!” I shouted and ran. “Maria! Call Dehan. Tell her to be armed and check her apartment. He’s going after her! I’m on my way!”

  I scrambled into my car and hit the gas. I called for backup and burned rubber down Crotona Park North, did sixty the wrong way on Crotona Park East, and skidded onto Southern Boulevard. Then I floored the pedal. It took me less than a minute to cover the mile, and it was a miracle I didn’t kill myself or somebody else. I screamed right into 167th, floored the pedal again, and then screamed left at the junction, going the wrong way again, into Dehan’s street. I skidded to a halt outside her door and jumped out.

  My phone was ringing. It was Maria. “She’s not answering.”

  I could hear sirens approaching.

  “Okay. I’m here.”

  I hung up and pressed all the bells at the same time. As they answered, I yelled, “NYPD! Open up!”

  The lock buzzed. I slammed through and ran up the stairs. She was on the fifth. By the time I got there I was gasping for air and my legs were shaking, but I didn’t pause. I pulled my piece, shot out the lock and pushed in, screaming, “Dehan! Dehan!”

  I checked the kitchen. It was clear. I burst into the living room. The light was on, but the room was empty. I was still screaming her name like a maniac. It was a one-bedroom apartment. I could only have been there a few seconds. I kicked in the bedroom door, holding my gun out in front of me.

  The bedroom was dark, but the bathroom door was open and there was light coming out. There was a figure in the bathroom door, in silhouette, staring at me. It took me a full three seconds to register that it was Dehan. She was wearing pajamas, and her hair was wet. “What the fuck, Stone…?”

  I was aware that I was shaking. I tried to control it and said, “You’re okay…” It wasn’t a question.

  “Yeah. I’m okay…”

  I went to her and put my arms around her, hugging her hard for a couple of seconds, more to reassure myself that she was okay. I let her go and looked into her face. She was smiling uncertainly. I heard voices calling from the door.

  “Detective Stone! NYPD!”

  “Okay, I’m here.” I holstered my piece and stepped out. “Sorry, guys, another false alarm.”

  The patrolman pointed at the blown lock. “What’s this?”

  “I thought Detective Dehan was at risk.”

  He frown
ed curiously at me. “You got this?”

  “I’ve got it.”

  “Okay…”

  They left and I went back to Dehan. She was standing in her bedroom door.

  “You want to tell me what’s going on?”

  “You weren’t answering your phone.”

  “I was in the shower. I guess I didn’t hear it. But that’s no reason to shoot out my lock, Stone.”

  “Sit down.”

  She sat on the sofa, and I sat next to her. I showed her the photograph. “Look at the car in the foreground. Look at the woman who’s about to open the door.”

  She stared at it a moment, frowning. Then she gave an involuntary intake of breath, and her hand went to her mouth. She stared at me, and she looked scared.

  “Dehan, it was never about Nancy. He called me after I dropped you off. He was laughing. All he said was, ‘tick tock.’ It made me look at the photograph again. He must have taken it when you borrowed my car to go shopping.”

  “I’m his fucking target? I’m not even blonde!”

  “Pack a bag. You’re coming back to my place, and I am going to stick to you like glue.”

  She nodded, and for a moment she looked small and vulnerable. “Thanks, Stone.”

  Seventeen

  I put her to bed in the spare room, and I sat in the living room watching TV till the sky turned gray over a wet dawn. Then I climbed the stairs and looked in on her. She was sleeping, snoring softly. I sat in the armchair in the corner and closed my eyes. That must have been about six thirty.

  It felt like I had just closed my eyes, but I felt her shaking me gently, and when I opened them, she was showered and dressed, and there was a gray light in the room. I looked at the bedside clock. It was seven thirty.

  She said, “Get in the bed, Stone. Get a couple of hours’ sleep. I’ll call you at nine thirty for breakfast.

  I shook my head. “Make bacon and coffee. I’ll be down in twenty. I’ll get some sleep this afternoon.”

  I had a cold shower, which got rid of the grogginess, and then the smell of bacon and coffee did the rest. I sat and she piled my plate with rashers, two eggs, and toast. Then she poured my coffee and sat opposite me.